This weekend I’m away in the Shoalhaven hinterland, a couple of hours drive south from Sydney, with some of my bookclub. The big, beautiful house we are staying in belongs to a friend of a friend and some combination of this group of women have been coming here for weekends for many years now. It is, however, my first visit to the house.
It’s not quite the way I expected it. I don’t know why – if you’ve ever had a picture in your head of a building or place in a novel and was then startled to see it looked completely different in the film of the same name then you’ll know what I mean.
I’m a terrible movie watcher for that reason – the film is almost never as good as the book for me. At the moment most of the girls-weekend-away crew are in another room watching Bridget Jones, surely one of the ultimate girls-weekend-away chick flicks. I enjoyed the book, but the film left me cold, hence I’m sitting by the fire blogging instead! (Yes. A fire. In November. It’s that cold.)